Page 57 of For Cowgirls and Kings

“I won’t,” Rafael states, even as his hands grip my hands, pinning them above my head. I continue to thrash my head, my body, my legs. Anything to make it harder for them—to fight for me.

“I will,” Javier sneers. The sound of his zipper lowering is like a death knell ringing through the storm consuming my mind, and I freeze, slumping against the floor.

I fight, until I can’t fight anymore.

“Only her mouth. The rest we’ll save untilhe’shere to watch us ruin her,” Marco states, his voice bordering on uninterested.

Javier grunts, dropping to hover above me. I pinch my eyes shut, thinking about anything other than what comes next.

Even as I want to fight, I know there’s no point. I can’t take all three of them, and even if I don’t want to survive throughthis, I don’t want to die.

So what’s left?

A fist lands against my jaw, making me cry out in pain once more. As I do, Javier pinches my jaw with his meaty hand, making it impossible to close it without breaking the bones.

I don’t bother fighting anymore, instead I stare at the light swaying slightly from the ceiling. Its warm glow filters through the rafters, illuminating the cobwebs gathering there. I’ve always been afraid of spiders, but surprisingly since being here I’ve never once thought about them.

Have they been privy to every one of my punishments? Do they sympathize or hate me as I’ve always hated them?

My eyes snag on a small black and white photo wedged in between a rafter and a ceiling board. It’s small, and the light barely illuminates it, but from what I can see, it’s four little boys. They all look unique, and similar, their features all dark, their eyes all rounded and excited. There’s goofy, boyish smiles on each of their faces, and I begin to cry anew staring into the innocence of their faces.

They don’t look like they know the evils of the world. Yet, here they are, watching the most kind of evil things happen to me.

I focus on their faces, even as my body begins to numb, my jaw aching to a nearly unbearable level.

And just when I feel like I might drift off completely, my arms begin to tingle as blood rushes to each of my extremities—my toes, to my fingers, my lips and nose. My head swims with the rush of it, the pressure from before lifted, the light dim above me.

Are they gone?

Am I?

“Sit up, princessa.” The words are tender, but I don’t have the will to find the kindness in them. Not anymore.

After several seconds, a hand slides beneath my head, lifting me slowly until I’m sitting up, propped against a firmchest. My own head feels empty, my body and mind separate and far away.

But I can hear the rapid thumping of the heart beneath my ear, and I focus on it, willing myself to stay here, fight to stay here, even if every part of me wants to fade away completely.

Cool liquid spills across my lips first, running in rivulets down my neck, a hand quickly following and I recoil at the contact. He freezes, raising his hand.

“I was just going to dry you off so you didn’t get cold.”

“I don’t feel anything,” I whisper hoarsely, my voice a raspy, weak version of its previous self.

He sighs, his body tensing beneath my head before he shifts, his hand lowering toward me. “Can I clean you off? Can I put you in something warmer?”

“What’s the point?” I ask. Some far away part of me knows I shouldn’t be fighting him. With his help, I have the best chance at surviving.

Or is it false hope once more?

He didn’t assault me, but he did hold me down. He didn’t hit me, but he didn’t fight for me.

“You have to keep fighting, princessa. Just a little bit longer,” he whispers, his hands now full of a warm cloth as it passes gingerly over the broken skin around my nose and mouth, and down my neck that feels caked in something sticky and dry.

“I’m so tired.” My eyes drift shut, emphasizing my point.

“I know. Let me take care of you, so you can fight another day.”

And so I do. I don’t fight Rafael as he cleans away the physical reminders of today. But with each tender pass of the cloth, the emotional reminders press deeper and deeper beneath my skin. Branding me in a way I know I’ll never be free of, even if I live through this.